


Lit Up By The Sun, Barefoot In The Grass

by wildenessat221b



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, a bit of death, but it doesn't last long, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 10:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildenessat221b/pseuds/wildenessat221b
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki have lived in many lives, not all of which wanted them.They get it right eventually.





	

The first time they met was in the palace gardens. Both young, both beautiful. Both lit up by the sun, both barefoot in the soft grass. 

Both alive.

One had skin of ivory, the other had skin that the year deemed inferior.  
The ivory boy was dressed in robes of satin and silk, gold chain adorning his chest and platinum hair reaching almost down to the back of his knees. He had eyes of ice and the fingers of an artist, and smiled at the sky because this time, the world had been kind to him. He was loved by the people and loved by the state, and he had no reason yet to not love them right back. 

The other boy was dressed scratchy fabrics, primed for manual labour and stained. His fingers were worn and his palms scarred. His legs ached and his eyes were tired, but he counted his blessings. He didn't smile at the sky, but he didn't frown either.

Others had it so much worse. 

They crossed each other on the lawn, one on the way to the dinner hall and the other to the stables. They exchanged glances and nothing more. The ivory boy offered a tentative smile that the other boy couldn't return; it wasn't proper. 

But they also exchanged electricity, and though they were young and repressed, they knew what it felt like for the ground to shift, and a patch of sky to cave in. 

Nothing was pursued, nothing followed up.

The ivory boy's maid found him one day, sitting cross legged in the spot where his eyes had met the other's with a thoughtful look on his face. 

'Master Nikiforov...?' she asked tentatively, holding out a pale hand for him. 

He glanced at it and smiled, then shook his head. 

'I'm going to stay here for a while,' he whispered.

'...okay.'

***

The second time they met, a good two hundred years later, was aboard the unsinkable ship. 

A towering vessel, with three real funnels and a dud, unnecessary chandeliers, architectural embellishments that were anything but functional and a smell of the elite with undertones of the poor and lucky. 

One was the elite, one was the poor and lucky. 

They met on the top deck, the Russian staring into the water, with his black tie hanging around his neck. His shirt was neatly tucked in and his trousers perfectly pressed, but his tie was twisted and unknotted. 

It had begun to feel like a vice. He didn't hate the world this time either, but he didn't love it. 

There were undertones in this lifetime... echoes that all wasn't fine and dandy, even for the rich and powerful. 

The Japanese man was beside him, a few metres between, staring at the Russian with deep, dark eyes.

He wasn't looking back, so he sort of assumed that he was invisible. He was used to that, used to people looking at the dirty clothes and downturned chin and not looking any deeper.

That's why he jumped when the man chuckled.

'Should I start charging?'

The Japanese man spluttered. 

'Ah... I don't know what you... Um...'

He inched away. 

The man chuckled again and beckoned him closer. 

'I'm joking. Relax. Look all you please.'

He waved a hand up and down his torso with a flourish. 

The Japanese man felt heat creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks. 

'It's... okay thank you.'

The Russian pursed his lips. 

'Okay then.'

They both stared into the icy water again. The Russian drummed his fingers against the barrier. 

'What's your name?'

'Mine?'

'Do you see anyone else?'

'...people don't normally ask. Yuri. It's Yuri.'

'Yuri..?'

'Yuri Katsuki.'

The Russian smiled. 

'Pleased to meet you, Yuri Katsuki.'

'...and you.'

The Russian strode into the centre of the deck, and twirled on one foot.

'Do you dance, Yuri?'

'Sorry?'

He sighed melodramatically, and opened his arms with a smile. 

'Do you dance, Yuri?'

Yuri blinked. 

'I... no, not really.'

The Russian's face fell.

'Well that's a tremendous disappointment. I came up here because everyone was dancing, and I simply couldn't find a partner. You. Are perfect.'

Yuri's stomach fell into his feet.

'I... I have to go.'

He began to run, as the Russian watched in disdain.

'My name's Viktor,' he called to the retreating figure, 'If you ever feel like having a good time. Viktor Nikiforov.'

Yuri heard the name carried on the wind, and filed it away for later in the back of his mind, and watered it down for use in his dreams. 

The next night, the Titanic went down, and for once in history, the patriarchy wasn't beneficial. 

The history books remembered only one name, because that's what happens. 

***

The third time they met, Viktor was losing his mind. 

Older, much older, with lines in his face and mottled spots on his hands. He was shaky and withering, his eyes dull and mostly unseeing.

He could remember things from years ago, playing as a child, lullabies his long gone mother would sing, but his carer was a stranger every time they met and the memory of breakfast was grey and murky. 

The only living face that he could remember (just the lines of... just the feeling of) was the man who sat beside him.

Every day, sitting around the coffee table with blankets draped over their knees, he'd talk. 

He'd talk about Japan, and his childhood dog, and how pretty the stars were. 

He was a few years younger, still had his sanity, Viktor was sure, but even in his moments of lucidly, he didn't resent him.

He loved how alive he remained. How able he was to be the beacon in Viktor's otherwise dark and hazy world.

He couldn't hold onto a name, but he felt the feeling, every time. A warmth, as though something was melting. 

It was the last face he saw before his eyes gave out for good, and he was pretty certain he was one of the only people alive who can say they went blind with a smile on their face. 

He also felt the warmth as he took his last breath, along with a single tear on his cheek that wasn't his own.

***

The fourth time they met, they were young again and angry. 

They both had colour streaks in their hair and were in a foreign city, marching with vibrant people.  
Chants and streamers coloured the air. Chants that shouldn't need to be chants. Chants of 'We Are People Too.' Chants of 'We Deserve To Be Protected.'

They were in the foreign city, because although it wasn't friendly to boys who liked boys and girls who liked girls, it was legally accepting.

Even if the current Prime Minster wanted them dead. 

Thugs were throwing bricks, and idiots were yelling abuse and Viktor was fuming. 

He did the first thing his brain told him to, and grabbed the face of the nearest person. He kissed harshly and passionately, with his middle finger raised towards the idiots. 

And it took him a moment to  
realise, but he was being kissed back, warmly and deeply. 

And... maybe that was a good decision. 

Possibly the first of his life. 

He pulled away, and they were swept along with the crowd. 

They both felt absence on their lips. 

Little did they know that they drank and danced together that night, trying to compensate for the feeling of the stranger on their lips.

They both went home to empty beds, and appeared on the death toll for the AIDS epidemic. 

What a waste of young lovers that was. 

***

The fifth time they met, Viktor was in a slump.

Five gold medals under his belt, and passion sucked dry. 

He had no motivation.

No drive.

But he smiled at the camera and shook hands with sponsors as Yakov grinned smugly in the corner. 

But the young skater from Japan who had fallen and not gotten up was getting steadily drunker in the corner. 

Then... he was dancing.

All loose limbs and flowing passion, he was on fire. Flames igniting his finger tips and body twisting in impossible directions. 

All of a sudden, he was dancing with Viktor. Their bodies were pressed together. Skin on skin. Heart on heart. Life on life. 

Viktor felt like he'd surfaced after a lifetime underwater. 

And... oh. 

They'd got it right this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! This is my first work so... constructive criticism much appreciated. Thank you again!


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